


Follow Me Into the Night

by romeokijai



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Blackout AU, Connor is a smug brat, F/M, Love/Hate, Monroe is an ass, Porn, Smut, and Charlie is one hundred percent done with everyone, fic repost, set somewhere in S2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romeokijai/pseuds/romeokijai
Summary: Charlie and Bass get into a fight. But then they sort it all out.This story is an alternate version of my fic, The Generals' Girls.





	Follow Me Into the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Generals' Girls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859633) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Another fic repost. You may want to read The Generals' Girls for a tiny bit of context, but you can read this as an independent one-shot as well.

“Stupid fucking bastard,” Charlie grumbles to herself as she shoves Monroe’s sword between her mattress and box spring. She is almost done straightening out the sheets when she hears him tromping up the stairs.

“Charlie!” He barks out, and she can’t help but snicker at the hoarse fury she hears in his voice.

Serves him right, she thinks, recalling the way that blonde at Marion’s bar had been rubbing herself all over him like a cat on a post. Asking him all sorts of witless questions about his militia days, which he _hates_ (he’s told Charlie that on more than one occasion). He could have stopped her. Could have just ignored her. But no. He just smiled that ridiculous smile that brought out his dimples and made the skin around his blue eyes crinkle. And then went on answering the bitch’s questions as if they were actually interesting.

He let himself get distracted. And lost his sword in the process. Idiot.

When Monroe reaches her room, he doesn’t bother knocking on her door; instead, he throws it open and glares at her.

“Where the fuck is it?” He demands.

Charlie’s initial thought is to tell him to fuck off, but something inside her prompts her to take a different approach - one she knows will piss him off even more.

“Where’s what?” She replies, a mockingly sweet smile stretching her lips as she plops down on her bed.

He glares harder, incredulous, his jaw twitching in obvious anger, and Charlie watches with a sense of satisfied eagerness as his chest heaves with all the words he wants to throw at her - but won’t.

She’s holding her breath, she realizes, as she anticipates his magnificent explosion.

To her disappointment, Monroe stays silent for several more seconds, rage percolating behind his heated blue gaze, before he inhales a long, steadying breath.

“Charlotte,” he finally breathes out, his tone suddenly low and stable. Then he cracks a smile. “You wanna give it back? Please?”

 _Okay,_ she almost concedes, her insides shuddering as she takes in the sight of those glorious little dimples that suddenly pierce his cheeks. But she yanks herself back just before that thought has a chance to materialize on her lips.

Damn.

He’s good.

Fortunately for her, though, she’s been around him long enough to know exactly what he’s doing.

And she is not about to fall for that shit. He wants to play that game? Fine. Two can play. But if anyone’s going to win, it’s going to be her.

“I’m sorry, Monroe,” she sighs, her tone matching the honey sweetness of his. “I just don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, if you tell me what it is you’ve lost, I’d be happy to help you look for it.”

Then, for good measure, she tilts her head ever so slightly to one side and bats her eyelashes at him, and ... five ... four ... three ... two ....

“I know you took it!” Monroe roars, but before Charlie even has a chance to revel in her tiny victory, he starts tearing through her room like a madman. “Where the hell did you put it?!”

He rummages through her closet and then starts on her dresser, opening the drawers with angry force and scooping out their contents.

“Get your fucking hands off my stuff and get out of my room, Monroe!” She screams when he dumps her small collection of bras and panties on the floor.

“No! I’m not leaving till you give it back!”

“Get. The fuck. OUT!”

“No, damn it!” Monroe insists, turning to face her. “Not until you at least tell me why you took it in the first place.”

“I’m not telling you a goddamned thing, so just get out of my room!” Charlie picks up her hairbrush from her nightstand and chucks it at his head.

He dodges it with ease, but that doesn’t make him any less pissed when the hard, wooden object smacks into the wall behind him before falling to the floor. “Jesus, Charlie!”

“GET OUT!”

He pauses then, and his expression shifts. Something dark and knowing settles over his rugged features, instantly making Charlie nervous. She watches with held breath as he smirks at her, then starts walking toward the bed.

“Get out,” she repeats, her tone failing to hold the bite she intended.

Monroe’s eyes are hot and fierce as they zero in on her face. He continues to move closer. “Where’s my sword, Charlie?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Is it under the bed?”

“No.”

“Really?”

She feels her heart rate skyrocket when Monroe kneels down in front of her, his eyes locked with hers. He reaches below her bed and starts to feel around for his beloved blade.

“You might as well give up, ‘cause you’ll never find it,” Charlie informs him, but once again, her voice is nowhere near as defiant as she intended. She watches as his lips curl upwards.

“Is that so?” He taunts, removing his hands from under her bed.

Charlie finds herself scooting back on the mattress as he unfolds his body to loom over her, one knee coming up onto the bed and his palms landing on either side of her hips.

“Get away from me,” she growls but does nothing to push him away.

“Hmmm....” He moves even closer. “Is that really what you want me to do?”

 _No,_ every part of her body screams - the same way it always screams whenever he’s near her, especially lately, but she’s a Matheson, goddamnit. Letting him know that would be the death of her pride. And she can’t have that.

“‘Cause I don’t really think that’s the case,” he continues, as if he’s just read her thoughts.

“Get out of my bed!”

He smirks, her words clearly meaning nothing to him, and leans closer still. “So, you’re saying you stole my sword and hid it in your bedroom, knowing I’d come in here, looking for it, but … you don’t want me in your bed?”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m–I mean, _no!_ I didn’t take your damn sword.” Charlie is almost flat on her back now, propped up on her elbows. He hovers over her, so close that she can smell the saltiness of his skin and feel the rough of his leather jacket as it brushes across her breasts.

A moan lodges in her throat, and she swallows hard.

“Where’s my sword, Charlotte?” His breath is hot and moist against her ear and she can feel his beard brushing against her jaw.

“Like I said, I don’t know. Now get off!” She pushes up in an effort to move him but he’s bigger than she is, and the position is awkward. So all she manages to do is dislodge the arm he’d been using to support his body over hers. He falls onto her heavily, knocking the wind right out of her lungs.

And he seems to be in no hurry to move. “But what if I don’t want to?”

Charlie groans and pushes against his chest with all her might, trying to ignore his tightly muscled pecs and the way his hardening cock twitches against her jean-clad thigh.

Holy shit. Her eyes fly to his and she stops pushing.

His eyes are hooded and lustful as he looks into hers. He leans in again, but this time he doesn’t just whisper in her ear. He licks it. And that one little lick is enough to make her center pulse.

How many times has she imagined this, she wonders, her thoughts going foggy as Monroe continues to run his sinfully wet tongue against the outer shell of her ear.

Then he works his way down to her fleshy earlobe and bites, causing Charlie to whimper.

Her eyes flutter closed, and she’s just about to slide her fingers into his thick, curly hair when -

“Aha!" He declares.

And she watches, gobsmacked, as the bastard pulls away, his sword now firmly gripped in one hand.

“How did you...?” Charlie pants, too overcome by her own lust and loss to complete her thought.

Not that it would matter, really, because Monroe is already gone - halfway down the stairs, the thudding of his boots growing more distant in Charlie’s ears, while she just lies there, defeated (and aching ... but she’ll never tell him that).

And then, to make matters worse, the jackass yells back at her from the bottom of the staircase, “You know, Charlotte, if you wanted to touch my sword so badly, all you had to do was ask!”

The condescension in his voice is enough to push her into action. She jumps to her feet, and a high-pitched and incoherent wail leaves her lips as she marches out to confront him.

She hears the door slam downstairs and knows he is gone even before she makes it to the staircase. Her heart falls, and it makes her furious, incandescent with rage, her mind reeling with epithets as she tries to ignore the real reason she's so, _so_ mad.

With fury coursing through her veins, Charlie bolts downstairs.

Connor is there, sitting on the couch in the front room. The amused look on his face tells Charlie that he’s just witnessed - at least audibly - this whole exchange between her and his dad. The thought makes Charlie’s blood boil.

“Where’d he go?” She questions.

The little fucker just shrugs and makes himself comfortable on the worn out sofa, throwing his feet up and propping them on the table like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

 _Useless piece of shit,_ Charlie thinks. He’s exactly like his father. Cocky, selfish, and stubborn as hell. What does Nora see in Baby Monroe anyway?

Charlie realizes she’s staring at him, and the arrogant little smirk Connor gives her - so reminiscent of his dad - makes her want to march over and wring his pathetic little neck.

But ... Monroe’s still out there. If anyone’s getting their ass kicked tonight, it’s going to be him. She can deal with Junior later, she decides, exhaling sharply as she heads for the door.

“Monroe!” She slams the door behind her and screams into the darkness and ... yeah, that was probably a really stupid thing to do, considering the fact that the town is crawling with those khaki-clad dicks. But with the way Charlie is currently feeling, she couldn’t care less about the Patriots. In fact, it probably wouldn’t be so bad if she ran into a few of them right about now. With the amount of anger and adrenaline rushing through her system at the moment, she could probably hand them their asses without even batting an eyelash.

 

\- - -

 

The frigid autumn air nips at Charlie’s cheeks, nose, lips, and hands as she moves through the moonlit woods in search of Monroe. Shivers crawl up and down her spine, distracting her from her hunt, and she is just beginning to wonder if maybe she should turn back when she finally spots him.

He’s leaning against a large tree, his stance casual and relaxed, and he’s watching her while puffing on a hand-rolled cigarette that burns bright between his lips. And even under the cover of night, Charlie can see his sword hanging at his side.

“Charlotte,” he says and pushes himself off of the tree. He tosses the cigarette to the ground and stamps it out with his boot before lifting his gaze to meet Charlie’s. “You know, you really shouldn’t be wandering around in the woods at night.”

“Why? Has there been an asshole sighting around here? Other than you, I mean?” She sneers.

“Right, ‘cause clearly, I’m the asshole in this situation.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She says, moving in his direction but still keeping a safe distance. (The last thing she needs is a repeat of what happened in her bedroom earlier.)

An amused puff of laughter leaves his lips. “Really, kid? So now you’re going to act all innocent? Let me remind you that I was minding my own damn business tonight when you suddenly decided to take my sword and run home like a jealous little school girl.”

“Jealous?!” Charlie scoffs. But even as she says it, her insides twist with guilt and anger. Guilt because ... well, yeah, she was acting jealous tonight, and the bastard has just called her out on it. And anger because ... what the fuck is wrong with her? This is _Monroe._ She can’t have feelings for him. She just can’t!

“Yeah, jealous.” Monroe’s voice yanks her back to the present. “But, for what it’s worth,” he goes on. “I thought it was kind of adorable.”

“Fuck off,” Charlie hisses.

“Oh, I plan to,” he chuckles, moving toward her till he’s in her personal space. Then he leans down and whispers in her ear, “And when I do, it’s you I’ll be imagining.”

She lunges at him, slamming her fists into his chest and attempting to push him down, but somewhere along the way, she loses her footing, and the next thing she knows, she is falling to the ground with Monroe wrapped around her.

His cackle is loud and wicked in her ear as they land in a bed of leaves. Then he rolls them over till she’s pinned beneath him.

“Get off of me!” She grits out, pushing and thrashing under him, to absolutely no avail.

Monroe sighs. “Are we really gonna do this again?”

Charlie’s heart pounds and her chest heaves as she continues to squirm and fight against his much larger frame until finally, she stops.

“Tired yet?” He asks, still sitting there with her trapped between his knees.

“Shut up and move.”

 _Or don’t,_ her traitorous body suggests, and for a second, she finds herself basking in the warmth of the hard body above.

But then the thought actually registers in her brain, and she starts to thrash again.

Monroe smiles at her. “You’ve got a lot of pent up anger, sweetheart. Why don’t I help you work through some of that?”

“I don’t want your help!”

“Really? ‘Cause it seems to me like you do,” he says, leaning down till his face is mere inches from hers, his breath warm against her cold lips. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. Just admit it. You want me,” he rasps out, ghosting his lips over hers.

 _Yes. Want you,_ her entire body hums even while she tries to ignore the effect his lips are having on her - his smoky, leathery scent, and the soft brush of his beard, and the blatant throb it creates between her thighs.

"Do you dream of me at night, Charlie? Have to get off every time we fight? Wake up shaking and sweating because you've just come so hard?"

“Are we still talking about me? Or you?” She quips, arching up into him.

“All the evidence suggests it’s both of us,” he says, his tone mocking.

But before she can answer, he closes the distance between their mouths.

She freezes when his lips touch hers. It’s only for a second, but it’s long enough for Monroe to pull back and stare at her, his eyes hot and searching.

Permission. He’s searching for permission, she realizes. She probably shouldn’t give it to him, should push him away and escape, but ... he’s giving her a choice, damn it. He’s making her face the fact that not only does she want him, but he wants hert, too. Suddenly, her pride is a small, shriveled thing next to the pull between them.

So she reaches for the collar of his jacket and yanks him back down. _Permission granted_ and _fine; I want you,_ she silently tells him by smashing her lips into his.

His mouth curls into a smile against hers before he takes control and deepens the kiss. It’s rough and carnal, his tongue working its way into her mouth and stroking against her own.

She threads her slim fingers into his curls and angles her mouth under his. The more he kisses her, the more her core burns, the coldness of the night forgotten as every part of her ignites beneath his touch.

They roll around on the forest floor, kissing and biting and licking, twigs and leaves getting caught in their hair and between their entangled bodies, but neither one of them cares.

When Monroe slides a hand under Charlie’s shirt, her stomach muscles flutter beneath his sword- calloused fingertips. She moans approvingly, and he slides his hand farther up until he’s cupping her breast over her bra.

She suddenly hates that she’s wearing so many clothes. Hates even more that he’s still wearing his. So she reaches up and starts to push off his leather jacket.

He takes the hint and sits up, shrugging off his jacket in the process. She follows suit with her own jacket, then helps him remove his shirt.

Soon their clothes and weapons are in a pile beside them, except for Monroe’s jacket, which is under Charlie’s back, the only thing separating her bare skin from the earth. The night air kisses their naked flesh as Monroe settles down in the cradle of her thighs.

Her mouth waters at the sight of his nakedness. Every hard, muscled curve of him magnifies the craving she’s been fighting for too long now. Since New Vegas, in fact. That’s how long she’s burned for him.

She anxiously pulls him down for another kiss while his hands move all over, stroking her hot skin. His fingers trail across her stomach, her hips, and up to her breasts, where he spends some time, twisting and twirling her pebbled nipples, before he works his way down her body. She whimpers into his mouth when he slides his fingers between them and caresses her wet pussy lips.

“Mmm, so wet.” He breaks the kiss and growls in her ear, his voice thick with want.

“Just hurry up and fuck me already,” she demands. She can feel his cock hard and ready, throbbing against her thigh, and every part of her aches to have him inside.

She thinks she’s going to lose her mind when he takes himself in hand and teases her swollen folds with the head of his cock, up and down several times, coating himself in her wetness and brushing against her clit.

“Fuck me!” She hisses, and she’s just about to reach down and take matters into her own hands when he does the honors himself and pushes into her in one swift, angry motion.

Charlie cries out at the intrusion, her whimpers echoing off of the surrounding trees.

Monroe sinks deeper into her tight passage. Then he hitches her leg around his hip and begins to piston in and out of her, little grunts leaving his lips every time he bottoms out inside of her. She digs her fingernails into the tops of his bare shoulders and thrusts up against him, meeting his every move with with all the fury of months of pent-up desire.

The building pleasure leaves her drifting somewhere, poised on a cliff edge, desperate to throw herself off. But it's good, so, so good, until ... Monroe lifts her leg and throws it over his shoulder.

He laughs at her desperation, then smiles almost indulgently as he reaches between their bodies and drags a thumb over her swollen clit. She loses all control, her body writhing and spasming against his as she orgasms.

He works her through it, grunting as his body continues to slam into hers, while her pussy trembles around his cock. Then he pulls out at the last possible second, his own orgasm hitting him with full force as he spills his hot seed all over her flat belly.

He eventually collapses on top of her but somehow manages not to crush her in the process.

They’re quiet for a moment, just the sound of the rustling trees and their panted breath filling their ears. After a while, Monroe rolls them over till he’s on the bottom and clutches Charlie to his sweat-drenched chest.

She can feel his pounding heart beneath her ear, and she’s just about to let out a contented sigh when he speaks.

“See? I knew you were jealous,” he says, absently running his fingers through her mussed hair.

She bristles and sits up, frowning.

He just grins at her. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank you for stealing my sword tonight.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “You’re such an ass, you know that?”

“I’ve been told a time or two.” He shrugs. “You know, you could just say you’re welcome?” He pulls her back down till her face is almost touching his.

“Where’s the fun in that?” She quips, smiling. But then her expression melts into something more sincere. “You’re welcome. Kind of wish I’d done it months ago,” she admits, unable to meet his eyes as she makes her confession.

He tangles his hand at the nape of her neck and forces her to look at him, face serious for once. “Maybe I wouldn’t have had the guts to come after you then. Maybe you wouldn’t have been ready to chase me down. No point getting tangled up in the ‘could have’ and ‘should have’. Besides....”

He slides his hand down to pluck at one erect nipple.

“This way, we’ve got lots of time to make up.”

Then his hand travels further down her body, delving into her wet curls to nudge at her still-sensitive clit, then tease at her entrance in a way that makes her gasp.

“And so many places to play hide the sword.”

 

\- THE END - 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading (or rereading), feel free to drop a line and tell me what you think! (But if you read silently, I supposed I deserve that - seeing as I deleted all my fics before. Sigh.)


End file.
